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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877894">A Strange Turn of Events</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introcorn/pseuds/Introcorn'>Introcorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Modern Era</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:53:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27877894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Introcorn/pseuds/Introcorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Katy Morland is eighteen years old, and fresh out of college. Her neighbours, the Allens, decide to take her to Bath, and while she's there, she meets her favourite author- Henry Tilney, the creator of "Matilda's Choice" and "Murder in the Hyacinths." Little does she realize, however, that Henry Tilney is a lot younger than she imagined.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Catherine Morland/Henry Tilney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Strange Turn of Events</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I will be updating as soon as I can! I've been in the process of moving, so I'm not too entirely sure when the next chapter will be completed- but if you'd like to keep up with the story, bookmark it so you can get updates as soon as I post!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katy bounced and rocked on the heels of her trainers as she stood in line at the bookstore, holding her favourite book, “Murder in the Hyacinths”, to her chest. Did Mrs. Allen think it was worth standing in line for fifteen minutes for Katy to meet her favourite author of all time? Not at all, Mrs. Allen had said, but said that Katy could very well make her own bed and lie in it and do with her time as she pleased. After all, being eighteen had these perks when away from home. So Mrs. Allen was in a lavender store, probably choking since she had bad asthma, and Mr. Allen was in their hotel room, probably listening to an audiobook or the like. And Katy Morland was in line to meet her favourite author, Henry Tilney. <br/>She was so far up the line that she couldn’t even see him- all she saw was the back of people’s heads. Being barely two inches above the five foot mark really didn’t have many perks where people were involved. Where blankets and sleeping was involved, on the other hand, were a multitude of perks. However, slowly but surely the line dissipated. Katy had the feeling she probably wouldn’t know what Henry looked like until it was her own turn- the man in front of her was at least five feet and eight inches and his back was very wide. When the man’s turn came, she was close enough to hear that Mr. Tilney’s voice was very youthful. <br/>You may be wondering “Why didn’t Katy do research on her favourite author if he was truly her favourite author?” Here is the shocking truth, dearest reader- Katy Morland did not care for social media beyond using texting apps and such. And as far as looking up people on Google, she just… didn’t.  She felt as though she was infringing on some sort of privacy that public figures were supposed to have. So she knew nothing of what to expect from Henry Tilney- his age was never mentioned in his short bio in his books, nor were there any portraits of him anywhere in them. However, from his style of writing, she guessed he was in his forties. <br/>What a shock it was to her when she approached the table to see a young man in his early twenties, a sharpie in his left hand, and a smile on his face! Not to mention dark curls that were grown out a bit; so much so that you could probably call them ringlets. Katy instantly thought of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock hair. <br/>“Are you… Mr. Henry Tilney?” Katy asked falteringly, her face growing red. The young man raised an eyebrow, though a smile was still retained on his face. <br/>“I am- at least, that’s what the sign outside of the bookstore advertised. And I presume you’ve read my books, Miss…?”<br/>“Katy Morland. Uhm… do you mind signing this book?” Abruptly she thrust “Murder in the Hyacinths” towards him. Realizing her awkward behaviour, she laughed. “I’m so sorry. I expected you to be quite a bit older… around forty or so.  It took me rather by surprise to see you as… young as you are.” <br/>Henry slid the book towards him and uncapped his sharpie, but not before he glanced up at Katy and replied, “You may come back in a few years if you are too uncomfortable.” I’m sure in text, it seems rather brusque, and even rude, but if you could but see how his dark eyes twinkled and how a dimple deepened in his face as he said it, you would understand that he meant no rudeness by it. Katy certainly didn’t take it that way. <br/>“Oh, no, I believe I’m perfectly fine with it,” she said with the smallest smile. <br/>Henry opened the book up and went to write in when he paused. “How do you spell your name?”<br/>“Katy, with a K, and with a y instead of the usual –ie.” She continued to tell him how to spell ‘Morland’ as well. <br/>With a flourish, he finished writing in the book, drew away his marker from the page, and closed it. He slid the book towards her. “Is there a particular reason you chose to have “Murder in the Hyacinths” signed instead of my latest one, “Matilda’s Choice”?” he asked, capping his sharpie and folding his hands on the table. <br/>“Well, “Murder in the Hyacinths” is ultimately my favourite. I love all of your books,” Katy added hastily, “I just simply enjoy “Murder in the Hyacinths” a bit more.”<br/>“I understand completely, Miss Morland. I wrote a large chunk of it while I was staying at my father’s home in Gloucestershire, Northanger Abbey. I have to say, I enjoyed writing that particular book the most out of all of the series,” Henry said with a smile.<br/>Katy’s ears pricked up immediately. “Northanger Abbey? Do you have a name for the home, then?”<br/>Henry chuckled, his hands fidgeting with the sharpie, spinning it between his fingers and tapping with it on the table. “Indeed. It’s a lovely exercise for the imagination, Miss Morland- you should try it sometime.”<br/>“I couldn’t name the parsonage, my parents and the members of the church would think I’m crazy,” she said with a laugh. Henry’s eyes crinkled as he smiled broadly. <br/>“That’s the fun of it; sane people are hardly the ones who have a good time.” He glanced past her and at the line of people behind her. “I’m afraid I must cut this short. But it was lovely meeting you, Katy. Where did you say you hailed from?” <br/>“I didn’t. But I’m from a small village in Wiltshire, called Fullerton. I’m here with my neighbours on holiday.” <br/>“Ah.  You’re a ways away from home, then. Well, I hope you have a good time here in Bath.” His eyes twinkled. “Be ware, if you stay here too long, you’ll tire of it and never wish to come back, and all good memories will be coloured and tinted by your fatigue of Bath.” <br/>“I will keep that in mind, Mr. Tilney. I hope your time in Bath is pleasant as well. Thank you for signing my book,” she added with a wave as she stepped out of the line. Katy heard him say something behind her, but decided not to ask him to repeat it. Her cheeks almost flushed red- she was simply too old to still be flustered by older young men!  <br/>She bustled out of the bookstore, her book snug against her chest, adrenaline on her heels as she rushed down the street in search of Mrs. Allen. What she did not realize, however, is that there was a certain pair of eyes on her-<br/>and they were not Mr. Tilney’s.<br/>________________________________________<br/>Henry capped his sharpie, for the final time for that weekend, as the last fan exited the building and the bookstore was preparing to close. Dramatically he made a show of stretching his long fingers to the bookshop owner, Mr. Melbourne, and Mr. Melbourne’s wife, Victoria. <br/>“I swear I’ll develop arthritis in my fingers before the weekend is over,” Henry lamented jokingly, “thank god this was my last signing for at least another year.”<br/>Melbourne slapped him jovially on the shoulder. “Careful to whisper the cursed name of Arthur too loud, son, he’s sure to haunt you sooner or later.” <br/>“I’m afraid he’s already begun his hauntings- being a writer and sitting at a desk, typing incessantly, can only lead to endless carpal tunnel surgeries and arthritis. What a risky occupation I have!” Henry chafed his right wrist with his other hand. “Say, is it usually this busy this time of the year?”<br/>Victoria looked up from her clipboard, which she had been studying, at him. “This is average, I believe. The off-season is when people who aren’t rich enough to come through during peak season usually visit. And, June happens to be off-season.”  Her lips curled up on one side mischievously. “Why, did you think that your guests came to visit Bath simply to meet the famous and notorious Henry Tilney, young horror-slash-murder-mystery writer extraordinaire, for one minute in a tiny bookshop?”<br/>Henry chuckled heartily. “When you put it that way, no, absolutely not. Also, young writer extraordinaire?  I had a young woman who thought I was in my forties.” <br/>“After your spiel about carpal tunnel and arthritis, I’d think you were in your forties too,” Victoria teased. Her eyes wandered back to her clipboard. <br/>“A young woman?  Most of the fans I saw were men.” Mr. Melbourne inquired. <br/>“She was rather short- around Mrs. Melbourne’s height, I believe, no offense meant, Mrs. Melbourne- and her hair was a dark brown. It was kind of longish, and thick. I think she had it in a ponytail. Her name was Katy, I think.” <br/>“Rather short-“ Victoria began to retort, but was soon cut off by her husband. <br/>“Ah, I know Katy. She’s been here pretty much every day this week, and we strike up a conversation occasionally. She isn’t shy, I don’t believe, but she doesn’t say much. A rather sweet girl, though. Her father is a clergyman and, from what I gather, she grew up somewhat sheltered.” <br/>“That explains why she thought I was an old man.” Knowing that Mr. Melbourne was in his early forties, he grinned and prepared himself for another jocular slap on the shoulder. However, Mr. Melbourne seemed too preoccupied by something else to comment. <br/>“What did you think of Katy?” He asked Henry. <br/>“I barely talked to her for five minutes. But, I think she was rather sweet, what bit I did hear from her. It was strangely kind of cute to see her flustered when she thought I was supposed to be an old man.” A thought occurred to him and he narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to play matchmaker, Mr. Melbourne? With a young woman I barely know?” <br/>“I do admit that the little bit I know of her seems to strike a sort of compatibility with you. She’s not stupid- on the contrary, she’s intelligent. We debated for fifteen minutes on whether or not Frankenstein or his monster was the real monster. We both agreed, really, but I pretended to believe that his monster was the actual monster. However, when we finished arguing, it was entirely because she proposed a ceasefire. She was very cordial, and careful not to offend me.” <br/>“I thought you said she doesn’t say much.” <br/>“She doesn’t- about herself. She talks about other things, like books, opinions, the weather, that sort of thing.” His smile quirked. “She also has very strong opinions on a hundred percent polyester. She thinks they should be completely banned.” <br/>“As well they should- they’re entirely too scratchy.” He shook his head. “Mr. Melbourne, you’re too wise to try to play matchmaker. Besides, Miss Morland couldn’t have been more than seventeen.” <br/>“She’s eighteen, and graduated from her local college this year. I think she said she planned on going to uni this fall, but she didn’t tell me where.” <br/>Henry stood up from the table he had been stationed at and grinned at Mr. Melbourne. “Isn’t the mark of old age usually getting involved in other’s affairs and matchmaking?” <br/>“Didn’t your father teach you to respect your elders?” He shot back with an equal grin. <br/>“Oh, very well. Truce. The moment you bring my father into it, we have to make a truce.” Henry shook his head. “Any place an old man like me could get a good cup of coffee?” <br/>Mr. Melbourne was about to speak up, but Victoria quickly got revenge by cutting in. “I believe the Pump Room Restaurant has great coffee. Old man Melbourne,” she said with a sharp playful glance at her husband, “enjoys the coffee himself.” <br/>“That’s enough jabbing for one sentence, woman,” Mr. Melbourne rapped out through his laughter, “Old Man Melbourne! I’m only forty-two.” <br/>“So you are.” <br/>Henry elegantly bowed dramatically. “Unless you’d like to join me, I will see you two later; I’d rather not watch the two of you cat fight.”<br/>“We still have to tally up some things after today’s sales, so I supposed we’ll see you later, Henry. If you see me with an eye patch, you know exactly what happened.” <br/>“You’re a clumsy man with your words is what happened,” Victoria quipped, setting her clipboard aside to place her hands on her hips. <br/>“And yet, you still married a man crippled in his words, as I am.” Melbourne lifted a brow at his wife, who only shook her head and stifled her giggles. <br/>“What cup of coffee do you recommend, Melbourne?” Henry asked, gathering his satchel, trying his best to master the grin that fought its way to the surface. <br/>“Their filter coffee or their cappuccino. The filter coffee has a superb quality taste.”<br/>“Don’t get him started on their scones or their pastries- we’ll be here until closing time,” Victoria warned, “He won’t admit it but he’s a glutton for the most fattening things.”<br/>“Why need I admit it when you can do my confessing for me?” <br/>Henry finally chuckled as he put his shoulder to the door to open it. “I’ll leave you two be. Thanks for the recommendation!” <br/>“I think you’ll thank me for more later,” Mr. Melbourne impishly replied as he tickled his wife, who tried her best to writhe away from her husband. <br/>With that, Henry entered into the busy streets of Bath, and mazed his way to the Pump Room. <br/>He had heard that the Pump Room didn’t have a set dress code, but more of a self imposed one- smart casual. Thank goodness he generally didn’t look like a slob in public, and especially at his book signings. Today he’d worn dark denim bottoms with a lightweight forest green sweater, and classic white-and-black Vans, so he figured he wouldn’t look too bad for the Pump Room. <br/>He looked up at the elegant sign above the door, fashionably labeling this building as the Pump Room. The beautiful Georgian architecture was almost breath-taking. Its elegance was overwhelming, and he felt a lovely thrill go over him like a warm spring water bath. <br/>The inside was no less beautiful. Windows were scattered throughout the building, and the high roof and columns only added to its elegance. <br/>“Hi, my name is Tonya! Do you have a reservation?” The girl at the hostess station greeted warmly. Her blonde hair was tied up into a ponytail, with multiple glittery clips clipping back the front of her hair away from her face. He returned the smile. <br/>“I do not, Tonya.”<br/>“What’s your name?”<br/>“Henry. Henry Tilney.” <br/>“Alright! You need a table for one?”<br/>“I do indeed.” <br/>“Luckily for you, we have one table open! Ah, let me get you a menu. Are you here for afternoon tea?” <br/>“I’m here for a good cup of coffee, and I heard The Pump Room definitely has that. Are they correct?”<br/>Her smile could have blinded an already blind man. “Definitely! I would recommend our filter coffee, for sure. I’m not a big coffee fan myself, but I’ve heard many good remarks on it from customers.”<br/>“I’ll take a menu just in case, then,” he said with a smile. <br/>“Of course.”<br/>With that, she plucked a menu from the station and carried it close to her chest, leading him to a ginormous area. A pianist was playing a rendition of ‘Can You Feel the Love tonight’ and dishes were clattering, harmonizing with the constant chatter among the patrons. She seated him at an empty table the furthest away from the pianist, laying the menu on the table. <br/>“I’ll have a server out here at the shake of a lamb’s tail. Enjoy!”<br/>The tall woman bustled away, her blonde hair swaying behind her like a tail, greeting everyone who passed by and smiling as though it were slapped on and pasted to her face at precisely eight o clock that morning.  <br/>Henry picked up the menu in both hands and scanned it. He wasn’t in the mood for an alcoholic beverage at all, but just as he told the Melbournes, coffee would be right up his alley. And a pastry would be wonderful- if he had any soft spots in his diets, pastries and breads were it. <br/>True to Tonya’s word, another server was at his table. She was not as friendly as Tonya, but she was a server at least. Her eyes burnt holes into his skull. <br/>“Are you ready or do you need more time?” She asked, her arms crossed over her white button down and her notepad tucked in the crook of her arm. Her expression was one of boredom. <br/>“I believe I’m ready. What’s your name?”<br/>“Sam.” <br/>Henry reined his growing annoyance at her clipped tone. “Okay, Sam. I’d like filter coffee, from the pot, with a couple of packets of sugar.” He waited as she unfolded her arms long enough to scribble down the request. “And two blueberry scones, please.”<br/>“That all?” <br/>“Yes, thank you.”<br/>“Be out shortly with your coffee. And your couple of packets.”  She folded her arms again and sashayed to wherever she was headed.<br/>He shook his head- he was being too judgmental. He didn’t raise himself like that!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed! Comment, leave Kudos, or bookmark if you'd like! ^-^ ~Madi</p></blockquote></div></div>
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